


If Children Ruled the World

by MercyDisneyAngel



Category: NCIS
Genre: Children, Friendship, Gen, Innocence, One Shot, Tickling, Toddler, snack time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:46:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22028776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercyDisneyAngel/pseuds/MercyDisneyAngel
Summary: How would the world be if it were run by children, including our favorite federal agency? What sort of crimes would be committed? [One-Shot] Pure innocent, idealistic fun; no seriousness whatsoever.*Previously posted on Fanfiction . net*
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	If Children Ruled the World

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hey, everyone. Just a quick one shot that I dreamed up. What would happen if the world were run by children, including our favorite federal agency? This is pure innocent fun and is not intended to be offensive or taken literally in any sense. I know there is a larger gap between ages of Tim and Tony, Tony and Ziva, Ziva and Tim, etcetera etcetera, than what I had given everyone. But for the sake of this dream-created story, everyone will be between the ages of 9 and 12, with Gibbs and Vance the only ones being older, like 14 and 15, and since Tim is the youngest, I made him 5. Again, this is pure fun. This is not set in any particular time frame, except after Kate. Past or future episodes are irrelevant. Also, there will be a few grammar errors in some of the dialogue, particularly in Tim’s, but hey, he’s five. I know he’s smart but I’m sure even he had grammar issues as a five year old.

**Note _:_** **_Newton_** ** _’s First Law_** _: An object at rest remains at rest unless acted upon by a force. An object in motion remains in motion, and at a constant velocity, unless acted upon by a force._ Source: Astronomy Class, second semester of college.

**Disclaimer: I own not NCIS or the characters. You know this but still.**

**If Children Ruled the World**

“Come on, Timmy.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But you have to.”

“No, I don’t. I stay right here.”

Twelve year old Tony placed his hands on his blue jean-covered hips in irritation and frowned at his five year old friend. Tim continued to sit in his large office chair behind his big grass-green desk, his tiny fingers tracing along the page of his little six page cardboard book. The bronze-colored hooks and buttons of his light blue short overalls clinked gently as he adjusted his position in his seat, unfolding his bare legs out from underneath him to hang over the edge of the cushioned seat. Feeling annoyed, Tony reached out and pushed Tim’s chair, rolling him away from the desk and into the center of the area between all four desks. Tim squeaked and grabbed onto the arm rests of the chair as Tony propelled him around. “Tony, stop it! You’re going to make me fall!” he cried.

“You have to.” Tony said again. He walked around until he was standing in front of Tim and crossed his arms over the chest of his blue and black horizontal striped t-shirt. “Vance said so. If we don’t do what we’re told, we won’t get paying. And I want another marble.”

“But I don’t wanna play.” Tim whined. “I want to read my book.”

“You have to. Play time means play, not read. Besides, you can’t even read good.”

“I can too.” replied Tim with all the indignation he could muster. “I can read a little.”

“But not lots. Come on.” Tony placed a black and white sneaker-covered foot on one of the wheels of the chair to keep it steady and grabbed onto one of Tim’s ankles and pulled. Tim clutched the arm rests tighter, refusing to let go. “Let go, Timmy!” Tony yelled.

“No!” Tim cried. He slipped off the chair and felt his body float in the air as Tony continued to pull. “Let me go!”

“Fine, you asked for it.” Still pulling the ankle, Tony pulled off one of Tim’s blue and white tennis shoes and began scribbling his small fingers over the white sock-covered sole. Tim squealed before dissolving into hysteric giggles, kicking and twisting his leg in an attempt to dislodge the torturous fingers. “Come on, Timmy. Let go of the chair. You know you wanna.” taunted Tony, as he continued to tickle his friend’s small wiggling foot.

“AHH! N-nooo!” Tim shrieked. “S-ta-ha-ha-ha-hap it! Ah-haha-ha! Le-he-he-het go!” Suddenly Tim let out a high pitched scream as he felt Tony’s tormenting fingers reach his toes. He lost his grip on the chair and as Tony was still pulling, the two of them tumbled to the ground. Tim pulled his foot out of Tony’s loose grasp, grabbed his shoe, and scrambled away from him, tucking his feet beneath him as he did so.

Tony stood and let out a shout of triumph. “I knew I can get you to let go. I am the Master of Tickling.” Then he turned to smile encouragingly to eleven year old Ziva, who was still at her own bright purple desk, watching the two in amusement. “Come on, Ziva. It’s play time. Let’s go play.”

Ziva shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Tony’s smile turned into a frown. “But Ziva.” He whined. “You have to. It’s play time. Vance said so.”

“But I do not want to play.” Ziva argued.

Knowing better than to try tickling Ziva, Tony stomped his foot and turned to the fourth desk. “Boss, make Ziva and Timmy play with me! It’s play time. Vance said so.”

Fifteen year old Gibbs sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose and then looked into his cup. He was out of juice. Great. He had been watching ever since fourteen year old Vance announced it was play time and Tony had started coaxing Tim to play with him. He glanced at Tony, and then turned to Ziva. “Ziva, Tony’s right. Vance did say it was play time now. So you have to play. That’s the rule.”

Ziva frowned and tilted her head to the side. After a moment of thinking, she asked, “Can I take my scissors?”

Gibbs shook his head. “No.”

A pause. “What about a pencil?”

“No.”

“A paperclip?”

“No.”

“A single staple.”

“No. Nothing sharp or pointy.”

Ziva looked around her desk and then picked up a large pink eraser. She studied it for a moment and then slowly grinned, a malicious glint in her dark eyes. She glanced at Tony and slowly slid from her chair, smoothing down her burgundy colored ¾ sleeved shirt and dark blue jeans. Tony ‘eeped’, turned, and ran from the area. “Where are you going, Tony?” she called as she calmly stalked him like a panther after a mouse. She casually tossed the eraser into the air and caught it again. “I thought you wanted to play.”

Gibbs rolled his eyes, hoping Ziva had enough self control to not hurt Tony too bad. They needed everybody alive and more or less healthy in order to catch all of the bullies in the world and place them in time out so they couldn’t pick on the American sailors anymore or keep trying to break other peoples’ stuff. Gibbs glanced down and spotted Tim, who was still sitting on the ground, attempting to pull his shoe back on. The laces were still tied and he twisted and pushed his foot, trying to push it back inside the footwear. After a moment, Gibbs spoke. “Tim, why don’t you just untie the laces, put your shoe on, and then tie them again?”

Tim looked up at the older boy with innocent eyes. “Because I can’t tie shoes yet.”

Gibbs blinked and then beckoned him over. “Come here.” Tim stood up, picked up his shoe, and approached Gibbs. The young teen reached down and hooked his hands underneath the child’s underarms. He gently lifted up the five year old boy, and sat him down on the edge of his silver desk, tucking the white t-shirt back into the overalls. “Give me your shoe.” Tim handed it over and watched as Gibbs untied the laces, slipped the shoe over his foot and began tying them again. “Tim, why don’t you want to play with the others?” he asked as he maneuvered the laces.

“Because.”

Done with the laces, Gibbs looked up into the younger boy’s face. Tim tried to avoid his eyes but Gibbs reached out, tucked a finger under his chin and gently lifted Tim’s face. “Because why?”

Tim bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. “Because they don’t want me to play with them. They say I’m too little.” Gibbs gazed into the big green eyes of his youngest team mate and then glanced around the bright yellow office, filled with children between the ages of nine and twelve. Some were playing a rowdy game of tag, others were lying on their bellies on the middle landing of the Lego stairs, drawing and coloring, and others were standing around a computer, playing a computer game. Gibbs was sure Tim had the ability to play some of these games, despite his size, but he also knew that the other kids wouldn’t allow it. He was too young for them. Older children, especially preteens, didn’t like mingling with younger children for fear of their games getting messed up or else being made fun of by their friends for playing with babies. And they especially didn’t like taking the chance that someone much younger could beat them in a game. Unfortunately, Tim being only five, he was too young for even the nine year olds to tolerate.

Gibbs turned back to Tim. “What about Tony and Ziva? I thought I heard Tony begging you to play with him.”

At this, Tim sighed. “I know. But every time I play with them, they say a game and then say ‘No, we can’t play that one. Tim is too young.’, or they say ‘Tim is too little. He could get hurt. Tim isn’t strong enough to play that.’ But I’m strong. I could play. I could.” Tim stuck out his lower lip in a pout. “But they don’t listen. So they don’t play fun games because I’m too little. But if I say I don’t want to play, then they can play fun games with the other kids.”

“But then you would be by yourself.” Gibbs reminded him.

Tim shrugged. “But they could still play.”

Gibbs frowned and then glanced up at the clock on the wall. Seeing that it was almost eleven-thirty and snack time was at twelve, Gibbs made a decision. He stood up, tucked his light grey, short-sleeved shirt into the waistband of his faded light blue jeans, and clapped his hands. “Okay, then. Come with me.” He picked Tim up from the desk and set him down on the ground.

“Where are we going?” Tim asked as he followed Gibbs to the elevator.

“We’re going to go get the snacks.” Gibbs replied. They stepped off on the ground floor and headed out the door. Outside, rows of bicycles, tricycles, and non-electric scooters lined the pavement. Some of the people in the building even had skateboards, rollerblades, and skates under their desks. Gibbs and Tim walked around to the side of the building, where several red wagons sat in rows, some big enough for two people to sit comfortably. They picked one of the regular sized wagons, signed their name on the chart by the wall like they were supposed to when taking a wagon, and began the short trek to the snack shop.

“But I thought I was too little to get the snacks.” Tim questioned after a moment.

“Are you?” Gibbs asked.

“No.” Tim said firmly. “I can do it.”

“Okay then.” The two made their way down the street and approached the snack shop made out of boxes and crates. A large wooden sign under the big rectangular window read ‘Snack Shop’. Two thirteen year old twin boys stood at the window, dealing with customers. As one became free, Gibbs and Tim quickly made their way to him. “We need a lot of snacks.” Gibbs said.

“How much?” the boy asked.

Gibbs shrugged. “I don’t know, a lot. We need a bunch of the animal crackers.” The boy turned and grabbed a handful of white strings connected to little red boxes of animal crackers from a large crate. He picked up an empty box and dropped them in. “More.” said Gibbs. The boy frowned and grabbed another handful and placed them in the box. “More.” He placed in another handful. “More.”

“Look, man.” The boy said. “How many do you need? We need to make sure we have enough for other customers too.”

“I don’t know. It’s for the whole office.” replied Gibbs. “Just give me a few more.” The boy sighed and placed another handful of white stringed red boxes in with the others. “That should be good. Now I need that same amount of juice pouches. And the jell-o cups. Half of them red, and the other half green.”

The boy rolled his eyes and turned to one of several small coolers near the back of the shop. Lifting the lid, he pulled out several jell-o cups and a small bundle of tiny plastic white spoons. Returning to the window, he dropped them into the box with the crackers and then repeated the action with another cooler full of juice pouches. “Is that all?” When Gibbs nodded, the boy wrote something down on a small chalk board and then turned to Gibbs. “Okay, then. That will be twelve pennies and five big marbles.”

Gibbs reached into his pocket and counted out some pennies. “How about… _twenty_ pennies and…” He reached into his pocket again and pulled out some different sized marbles. “And _four_ big marbles.” He placed the four big marbles next to the pennies.

The boy frowned. “But I want five marbles. How about _eight_ pennies and five big marbles.”

“Okay, how about this.” Gibbs pulled back all of the pennies. “How about four big marbles and…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small wooden boat. “And this one of a kind, hand carved, wooden replica of the U.S.S Barry.” The boy’s eyes lit up. Beside him, his twin gawked at the wooden carving in Gibbs’ hand as well. Then the two turned to look out towards the water, where the giant bright red and yellow tugboat called _U.S.S Barry_ floated in the gentle waves. Then they turned back and the boy dealing with Gibbs nodded his head.

“Deal.” Completely ignoring the four large marbles, the boy took the boat from Gibbs and gazed at it almost lovingly.

“I want to see.” The second twin said.

“No, it’s mine.” Said the first twin.

“But we share.”

“No, I don’t want to share.”

“That’s not fair. You have to.”

“I got it first.”

Ignoring the now bickering twins, Gibbs grabbed the box of snacks and placed it in the wagon. Tim picked up the handle and began pulling. However, with the added weight of the box of snacks, the wagon was now too heavy and wouldn’t budge. “Do you need help?” Gibbs asked.

Tim shook his head. “No, I can do it.” Again, Tim tugged but still the wagon didn’t move. Tim stopped and positioned both feet firmly on the ground and began pulling again, his eyes closed with the effort. While he wasn’t looking, Gibbs gently nudged the wagon and it began to roll. Startled, Tim opened his eyes and stopped pulling. However, as is Newton’s First Law, the wagon continued to roll and knocked Tim off balance. He let out a tiny yelp and toppled backwards. Gibbs went over to help him up and paused when Tim looked up at him with a huge grin. “I did it! I made it move!”

In spite of himself, Gibbs grinned as well and helped the smaller boy to his feet. “Yes, you did. Now let’s get these snacks back to the others.”

With a new determination, Tim grabbed the wagon’s handle and began tugging. With Tim’s back turned, Gibbs once again nudged the wagon forward and the two slowly made their way back to their building. After a moment, Tim spoke. “How come you gave them that boat? Didn’t you say it was one of a kind? What’s ‘one of a kind’ anyways?”

“It means it was unique, or special because there’s no other one like it.” Gibbs shrugged. “And it’s okay because I made it myself.”

Tim looked at him in surprise. “You did?”

“Yep. I made tons of them in my arts and crafts room at home. It’s not really that one of a kind.” Gibbs shrugged again. “Besides, it’s nothing to what I really want to make.”

“What do you want to make?” Tim asked. He had started panting with the effort of dragging the wagon.

“Do you want me to help pull?” Gibbs asked.

Tim shook his head. “No, I can do it.”

“Okay but if it gets too hard, you better tell me.” said Gibbs. “And I want to make a real boat. A big one. Like a sail boat.”

“Really? A real sailboat?” Tim asked. “With real sails and stuff?” Gibbs nodded. “That would be so cool. And when you make it, can we all ride in it? You and me and Tony and Ziva?”

Gibbs looked at him. “I thought you get sick on boats.”

Tim grimaced. “I do. But I still want to ride on it. Can I? I promise I won’t throw up on it. I’ll try to throw up in a trash can. Can I? Please?”

Gibbs took in the hopeful look on the younger boy’s face and forced himself not to smile. “We’ll see. But I have to build it first.”

The two continued the trek back to the building, Tim panting a bit more heavily from pulling the wagon and talking at the same time. Eventually Tim started speaking again. “So, do you know what happened in the morning? I heard there was a accident.”

Gibbs nodded. “Yeah there was a pileup a few streets down.”

Tim glanced up at Gibbs in confusion. “What’s a ‘pileup’?”

“It’s when more than two people crash into each other.” Gibbs explained in as basic a definition as he could. “There was a skateboard with a wheel that came off, a scooter that got scratched, and a bicycle with one of the training wheels broken. The time-out police had to stop them from fighting.”

“Oh.” said Tim. “And what about the bridge?”

“What bridge?” asked Gibbs in confusion. He didn’t remember hearing anything about a bridge in the accident.

“The bridge that broke.” Tim explained. “The one that was builded to go to Britain. Did it get fixed yet?”

Now Gibbs understood. Tim was talking about the bridge that the builder kids had built to go from America to Britain. On the other side of America, more builder kids were building another bridge to go from America to a country called Japan. However, a piece of the bridge going to Britain had broken from a storm in the middle of the ocean and now the builders had to stop building the new bridge to the country Greenland, and instead fix the bridge to Britain so that people could ride their bikes and scooters across. Gibbs shook his head. “No, they still need to fix that. But it’s hard because people keep eating the play-dough. And someone keeps stealing the glue.”

“Again?” asked Tim. “Why do they keep taking it?”

“I don’t know.” said Gibbs with a shrug. “But since they keep taking the glue, we’re running out. But then this Chinese kid heard about it and he said he could send us some more glue with his remote control airplane. But we have to give him something in return.”

“What does he want?” Tim asked.

“We don’t know yet.”

“We should build cool stuff. Like maybe a airplane that can take people to the countries.” said Tim. “And then it will be okay if the bridge breaks again because the airplane will still be there.”

“An airplane that’s big enough to carry people?” Gibbs asked. “No way. That’s impossible, Tim.”

“Nuh-uh.” Tim argued. “I bet you. And maybe something big to carry stuff like snacks. Something bigger and better than the wagon.” Tim was now panting heavily, beads of sweat pebbling the fair skin of his face and neck, both of which were now turning red from the strain.

Gibbs frowned in concern. “Maybe I better take the wagon now.”

Tim shook his head before Gibbs had finished speaking. “I can do it. We’re here already.” And so they were. Tim dragged the wagon back to the spot at the side of the building where they had taken it from and then slumped to the ground, panting, in exhaustion, the overalls clinking softly as he sat on his bottom and leaned back against the cool wall.

Leaving the snacks in the wagon for the moment, Gibbs knelt down in front of the exhausted boy, piercing blue eyes shadowed with concern. “You okay, Tim?”

“I-I-I’m _*gasp*_ o-kay.” He wheezed. He tried to push himself to his feet and ended up collapsing into Gibbs.

“No you’re not.” Gibbs replied. He gently pushed Tim back down. “Just breathe. We’re not in a hurry.” He watched Tim breathe for a few moments. He pushed himself too hard. That much was obvious. It irritated him a bit that Tim was willing to ignore his own health just to prove he was strong. “Darn it, Tim. You pushed yourself too hard.” He scolded. “I told you that if it got too hard, to tell me. Didn’t I? You should have told me. What were you thinking? You could have seriously hurt yourself. You could have hurt your arms, or your back, or your legs, or your hands. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Tim looked up and Gibbs instantly regretted his harsh tone. Big green eyes filled with tears, which quickly spilled over to slide down cherub-like cheeks, bottom lip trembling. “I’m s-ssorry.” Tim squeaked softly. He wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. It did no good; more tears fell to replace the ones that had been swiped away. “I j-just w-wanted _*sniff*_ to he-help. I d-don’t wanna _*sniff*_ I don’t w-wanna be l-lit-tle. I wanna b-be b-big like _*sniff*_ like e-everyb-body else. I w-wanna be s-strong, too.”

 _‘Nice job, Jethro.’_ He scolded himself. _‘You just made a little five year old cry. Don’t you feel big and tough?’_ Not knowing what else to do and feeling bad for making Tim cry in the first place, Gibbs did the only thing he could think of. He reached out and hugged the sobbing boy. “I’m sorry, Tim. I didn’t mean to yell. But you need to be more careful. You could have really hurt yourself. You need to think about these things.” He paused for a moment, still holding the sobbing child in his arms. “And you don’t have to prove you’re strong. I know you are. And one day, you’re going to be even stronger.”

At this, Tim looked up, the torrent of tears ceasing for the moment. “I will?”

Letting go, Gibbs nodded. “Absolutely. You’re still young, Tim. You still have a lot of growing to do. But once you do, I’m sure you’ll be big and strong, maybe even stronger than Tony.”

Tim’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? And Ziva too?”

Remembering Ziva stalking after Tony with an eraser, Gibbs winced. “Let’s not get carried away.”

Tim giggled and Gibbs smiled at making him do so. He sniffed and pulled the bottom of his shirt up from the side opening in his overalls and wiped his face. Then he looked up at Gibbs. “I think I’m okay now.”

“Are you sure this time?” Gibbs asked. Tim nodded. “Okay.” He reached out and grasped Tim’s hands, pulling him up as he got to his own feet. Then he and Tim moved to either side of the box of snacks and each grasped a handle before heading into the building, carrying the box between them. They stepped into the elevator and rode it up to the floor of their office. There was a slight change in the room when they entered. The kids that had been playing tag were now arguing over who was It, the children coloring were now blaming each other for messing up their pictures and drawings, and the computer gamers were now accusing one another of cheating. Gibbs placed the box on the edge of his desk and looked around over the sea of bickering children and preteens. Tony and Ziva were nowhere to be seen.

Swiftly, Gibbs climbed onto his chair and then onto his desk. “Hey!” he called. No one took notice, as the volume of the chaos surrounding each group continued to raise, each child making an effort to be heard over one another. Gibbs was about to shout again when he paused, feeling a slight tug on his jeans. Looking down, he spotted Tim standing slightly behind him, holding up something large in his small hands. It was a My First Sony™ Boombox; bright red with a blue handle and bright yellow speakers on either side of a small door intended for cassette tapes. A bright yellow coil cord connecting a matching red, blue and yellow microphone completed the old fashioned toy. Gibbs smiled.

Tim smiled back and handed him the toy before taking a step back, stuffing his fingers in his ears as he did. Gibbs turned on the toy, turned up the volume to maximum and raised the brightly colored microphone to his lips. **“HEY!”** he roared. Several people screamed and clamped their hands over their ears as Gibbs’ voice and high-pitched feedback echoed across the room. Silence fell as people turned to gaze up at Gibbs. Now that he could be heard, Gibbs continued in a normal tone, resisting the urge to massage his throat. Instead, he pointed down to the box at his desk. “Snack time. Everyone gets one juice pouch, one cup of jell-o, and one box of animal crackers.” He paused. When no one moved, he rolled his eyes and beckoned them forward. “Well, come on.”

As he stepped down, his desk was immediately swarmed with chattering children, each one digging into the box and pulling out their snacks before scurrying back to their desks. Finally silence reigned around the room as people quietly enjoyed their snacks. Once his desk was cleared, Gibbs glanced behind him to where Tim had taken shelter behind his desk. Beckoning him over, Gibbs reached into the box and pulled out a single pouch of juice, a box of crackers and a cup of jell-o, red as Tony preferred. “Help me hand these out.” He handed the items to Tim. “Put these on Tony’s desk.” As Tim scurried off, Gibbs reached into the box again and pulled out more snacks, this time with a green jell-o, handing them to Tim as he returned. “These go to Ziva.” When Tim returned again, he handed him his own snacks, including a green jell-o cup, before taking out the rest and placing the empty box on the ground in front of his desk. As the two of them enjoyed their snacks, a voice broke the silence.

“Boss!”

Gibbs and Tim looked up as their wayward team mates headed toward them, Tony in the lead. Ziva, who had glanced over and seen her snack waiting for her, headed over to her desk and sat down. However, Tony headed straight to Gibbs’ desk and peered into the empty box. He frowned and looked first at Tim and then at Ziva before looking back to Gibbs with a pout. “Where’s mine?” he asked in a small voice. Without speaking, Gibbs pointed towards Tony’s desk. Immediately, Tony’s face broke into a wide grin as he raced to his desk and sat down as well. “Thanks, Boss.”

“Don’t thank me.” Gibbs protested. He pointed to Tim. “I just paid for it. Tim was the one who dragged the heavy wagon all the way from the snack shop back to the building all by himself.”

“Really?” Tony questioned in astonishment. Then he turned and grinned at Tim. “Thanks, Timmy.”

“Thank you, Timmy.” Ziva added.

Tim blushed and ducked his head. “You’re welcome.” He mumbled shyly.

“GibbsGibbsGibbsGibbs!” Once again the silence was broken, this time by a small tornado of black, white and red that was ten year old Abby. “Gibbs! It’s snack time! Look at the clock! It’s snack time! Where’s my snack?”

Gibbs pulled open a drawer, where he had placed the last of the snacks, and handed them to Abby. Before handing it to her, he held up the cup of red jell-o he had saved and then held up the cup of green jell-o he had kept for himself. “Which one do you want?”

Abby looked from one to the other, chewing her lower lip in thought. “Well, the red one is like blood and I like blood, but the green one is like poison… Oh, which one did Timmy get?”

She whirled around, black skirt twirling beneath her red and black skull t-shirt, black pigtails flying, and watched as Tim held up his own cup. “Green.”

She turned back to Gibbs. “How about if I take the red one and then me and Timmy can share them?” She turned to Tim again. “Okay?”

Tim tilted his head to the side. “Share?”

Abby nodded. “Yeah. Like, I’ll eat half of the red one and you eat half of the green one. And then we’ll switch cups and you can eat the rest of my red one and I’ll eat the rest of your green one. Okay?”

Tim thought about this for a second before nodding. “Okay.” He said with a small smile.

Abby grinned and snatched up her snack before scurrying over to Tim’s desk. After placing her items on the desk, she climbed up onto Tim’s chair. “Scoot over, Timmy.” Tim wiggled to one side of the large chair to make room for Abby to plop down beside him. As small as he was, there was plenty of room.

Half way through snack time, Gibbs glanced around the room. Tony and Ziva were both finished with their snacks and were now using the little white spoons to silently fling tiny paper balls across the space between their desks, aiming for the others’ empty jell-o cup. Ziva was winning. Shaking his head, Gibbs turned to Tim’s desk. The five year old boy sat slumped in his seat, his head tilted back slightly against the back of the chair, nodding off while the hyperactive girl beside him prattled on about the various scientific studies concerning gelatin, the main ingredient of jell-o, oblivious to the slumbering child next to her. The day’s activities seemed to have proven too much for the young boy’s body, as exhaustion finally seemed to have staked its claim.

_DING!_

Gibbs jerked in his seat as the high pitched sound reverberated through his skull. He glanced briefly around at the sudden change in his surroundings. He was still in the bullpen, however it was no longer bright yellow but the ugly orange that not even a pumpkin could love. The Lego stairs were once again the original colors and material. Everything was dull and orderly, as it would if the world were ruled by dull and orderly adults. Gibbs blinked and felt the heaviness in his eyelids that came with sleep. It had been a dream. It was all a dream.

“Hey, Boss.” Gibbs glanced up to see adult-sized Tony and Ziva entering the squad room, Tony carrying a short square box with four white paper bags peaking out over the edge. That’s right. The case of the dead sailor had ended early that Friday morning, after an all-nighter, and Gibbs had sent Tony and Ziva off to retrieve lunch before they had to settle down for the end of case reports. As soon as they were done, they were free to leave but they had been only too eager for the short escape of a lunch run.

Tony handed two bags to Ziva, one with the name _Gibbs_ , and the other with her own, both written in black marker. Gibbs nodded his thanks as he took the bag from her and peered inside. A small greasy bag of French fries sat on top of a fully loaded barbequed tri-tip sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil. He could smell the salty scent of the slightly charred meat and it made his mouth water. Jell-o and animal crackers be damned, this was real food. The thought almost made him laugh. Almost.

As Ziva placed his cup of strong blacker-than-black coffee in front of him, Gibbs looked passed her to Tony, who had walked over to their youngest agent. Timothy McGee was currently slumped over in his chair, his head pillowed by his folded arms, fast asleep. With a slight sense of déjà vu, Gibbs watched as Tony gently thumped his partner on the head with the bag of food. Tim suddenly jerked awake and shot straight up in his seat, mumbling a quick, “I’m awake.”

“Yeah, right.” Tony chuckled. He waggled the bag in front of Tim’s face and plopped it down in front of the younger man before setting down a hot cup of coffee. “Lunch time.”

The bullpen lapsed into silence except for the rustling of food wrappers and the slight clacking of computer keys as the fully trained federal agents typed up their case reports. Gibbs used the silence to ponder his dream. He hadn’t meant to nod off, hadn’t even realized he had done so. The stuff in the break room that they claimed was coffee was obviously no good. That dream had been one of the strangest Gibbs had ever had, and with their job, that was saying something. However, he couldn’t help but marvel at how nice the world had been. Ruled by children, the only things the world had to fear were bicycle, skateboard and scooter collisions, neighboring bullies stealing each other’s glue, and the chaos of playtime in an office building with no adult supervision. Simple times where toys were traded for food, flying by airplane was only a fantasy, and all of the basic necessities such as clothing and shelter just _were_. That was the blessing with dreams and childish innocence. There was no reason to question or worry about where something came from. In a child’s eyes, these things weren’t a problem. They just _were_. They already existed, provided by the adults, ready to be accepted and used.

But Gibbs knew better. Every child that grew up and entered the adult world knew better. Behind the blissful fog of innocence lay the harsh realities of the world in the form of natural disasters, suicides, terrorists, murderers, and war. Nothing was easy. Nothing was just given to them; they had to work for it. They had to work for the peace they wanted in the world. And that was where Gibbs and his agents came in. The police, federal agents, security personnel from other countries, they were all needed to keep the monsters at bay. They couldn’t afford to be illusioned by childish dreams of such things as world peace and playtime. They were full grown, responsible adults.

As that last thought passed through Gibbs’ mind, Tony’s voice floated from his desk to Tim’s. “Hey, Probie. You going to eat those fries?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yes, Tony.”

“Can I have some?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Tony whined.

“Because they’re mine.” Tim answered.

“Hey, I bought them.” Tony pointed out.

“Yeah, with the money I pitched in for my part.” Tim argued back.

“Come on, Probie. Let me have some.” Tony begged.

“No.” Tim said. “Where are yours?”

Tony shrugged. “I ate them.”

“Well, that’s your problem.” Tim replied with indifference. “These are mine.”

Tony got up and went to stand beside Tim’s desk. As Tony headed over, Tim immediately grabbed the half empty bag of fries and the last few bites of his sandwich and held them to his chest as though he were protecting a child. “Go away, Tony.” Tim ordered as he turned his back to his partner, blocking him from his food.

Tony attempted to swipe some of the fries from Tim, who continued to twist one way and the other, blocking his reaching grasp. “Come on, Probie. Share.”

“No, Tony. Go away.”

Tony continued his attempts for another minute before stopping with a frown. Then a mischievous glint shown in his eyes and he grinned evilly, which Tim, with his back turned, couldn’t see. “Share, Probie.” He said.

“No.”

“Okay, then.” Before Tim could turn around at the abrupt change in his partner’s voice, hands suddenly placed themselves on his sides, fingers squeezing and kneading the sensitive nerves located beneath his skin, hidden by the thin material of his shirt.

Tim’s body jolted as if electrocuted before writhing and squirming in his chair as peals of laughter were forced passed his lips. “No no no no! T-Tony! Ah! Do-ho-hon’t!”

“Give ‘em up, Timmy.” Tony taunted, alternating his dancing fingers between Tim’s sides and his ribs as the younger man continued to writhe wildly in his seat. “You can’t win. I am **_The_ Tickle Master**. I was champion in my college days. Before long, you’ll be nothing but a giggling puddle of goo, McTicklish.”

“T-tony-hee-hee-hee, plea-hee-hee-heess! Sta-ha-ha **AAH**!” Tim shrieked and nearly tumbled from his seat as one of Tony’s hands found a particularly sensitive spot near the front of his belly at the same time that his other hand wiggled its way under his arm. “Okay! Oka-hay! You wiiiinn! Y-you-hoo can ha-hahave the f-fries! Just stahap! N-no mo-ore! No more t-ti-hickling! No more tickling!”

As soon as Tony let go and grabbed the bag of fries and remainder of the sandwich from Tim’s limp hands, the younger agent slumped from his seat and fell to the floor, where he lay panting, his arms wrapped tightly around his torso.

“You are evil, Tony.” Ziva commented, though an amused smile adorned her face.

“Hey, he should be glad I stopped.” Tony laughed, munching on the slightly squashed French fries from his desk. “I almost didn’t want to. That was fun. I didn’t know his voice could go that high.” Ziva chuckled.

Once his breathing slowed enough for coherent speech, Tim clambered to his knees and glared at Tony, his face flushed and eyes glistening with unshed tears of laughter. “You are such a jerk, Tony.” He snapped.

Tony waggled a fry at Tim, chuckling. “You better watch that tongue of yours, McGiggles. Don’t forget, I now know where you’re ticklish.”

Tim blushed and scowled, then glanced at his desktop. He grabbed the first thing that came to hand, a pen, and threw it at Tony. It hit him on the side of the head with a hollow sounding _poing!_ , causing Ziva to burst out laughing. Even Gibbs couldn’t stop a snort from escaping at the startled expression on Tony’s face, a French fry hovering midway to his mouth. Slowly he placed the fries down on his desk and stood to face Tim. A malicious grin nearly split his face in half as he crowed, “Round Two!” before charging.

Tim leaped to his feet and sprinted from the room, Tony hot on his heels. Ziva turned to Gibbs. “How long before Tony catches him?”

A shriek echoed from the hall the two had disappeared down. Gibbs shook his head. “Not long.” Chuckling, Ziva rose from her seat and headed after them with the claim of keeping Tony from tickling Tim into insanity. As silence settled once more on the bullpen, Gibbs shook his head at the absurdity of his previous thoughts. _Responsible adults_. _Tch! More like hyperactive children._ With that thought in mind, Gibbs turned back to his own paperwork, more than ready for this long and crazy day to be over. The weekend will come and Monday will be the fresh start of a new work week.

Another shriek floated from the hall, followed shortly by a second from Tony.

That is, if he still had agents left by Monday.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Well, there you go everyone. What did ya think? I know, a very idealistic view considering how cruel children can be. But I did say this story had no seriousness whatsoever.  
> My fiancé, Angel, is the most ticklish person I know. He is and will always be my muse. Anyways, helpful criticism always welcomed. Thanks for reading.  
> ~Mercy


End file.
